A Night in High Wycombe
by teacups-and-murder
Summary: Irene's 'happy birthday' text is burning a hole in Sherlock's pocket. What happens when he decides to act on it?


Hello, friends. :) Here's a fluffy piece of Adlock for you. Hope you enjoy. This takes place directly after The Lying Detective.

* * *

 _Happy Birthday, sexy._

An innocent enough text, he supposed.

Despite that, it burned a hole in Sherlock's pocket.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. Especially after what John had told him. Yes, he'd texted Irene before, but never with the intentions of actually _seeing_ her. It was only a distraction. Something to keep his mind off of whatever was taking place in the present.

Cake with John, Molly, and Rosie was nice. Mostly because he got to hold Rosie the entire time. (He wouldn't tell anyone that though.) He fed Rosie a tiny bite of cake despite John's wishes and the baby laughed with delight. It put a smile on everyone's face. But soon the night was over and Molly was escorting Sherlock back to his flat. While he understood why everyone was concerned about him, the constant presence of someone else in the flat was going to get on his nerves rather quickly. Especially as he continued to withdraw from the drugs he'd been taking.

Sherlock only knew one thing for certain: he'd never been more exhausted in his life. This case had been physically draining in the extreme and he was going to need more time than usual to recoup.

When he and Molly arrived at his flat, he immediately hung his coat and made his way towards his bedroom. "Where are you going?" Molly asked, standing in the living room.

"To bed. To sleep." Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.

"Right. Well I'll be out here 'till Mrs. Hudson comes up…"

Sherlock merely waved his hand again, acknowledging that he'd heard her. He made it to his room and closed the door behind him. He fell onto his bed with a sigh.

It was then that he pulled out the phone… He bit his lip nervously, fingers hovering hesitantly over the screen…

 _Before you ask about dinner, I'm not hungry. –SH_

Sherlock sent the message and quickly put his phone face down on his night stand. He ran his hands over his face, contemplating what he had just done. He jumped as his phone gave off the alert he was too familiar with. He wasn't expecting a reply that quickly.

 _Good. We can skip to the fun part._

 _I'm sure you've been watching the news. I'm currently 'grounded' to my flat. No fun tonight. –SH_

 _Oh, Sherlock, you underestimate your own abilities._

Sherlock stared up at his ceiling, phone on his chest. He took a few deep breaths, considering his options. He glanced to the door, then at the time. He took another deep breath and then sent his reply.

 _And if, I wanted to have a bit of fun, as you put it, where would I find you? –SH_

 _I just so happen to be in London tonight._

 _You didn't 'just so happen,' you planned it. –SH_

 _Alright, maybe I did. Does that change anything?_

Oh god what was Sherlock doing. What was he _doing?!_

 _Come find me, Mr. Holmes. [Location Attached]_

Oh no. This was bad. This was very bad. He sat up on his bed, looked at the address…. Oh _she_ was bad.

He hesitated for only a single moment before he quietly went to his door and turned the lock…

Sherlock's escape from Baker Street went exactly according to plan. It wasn't long before he found himself at the address Irene had sent him. He found himself running a hand through his hair as he stood in front of the door. He cleared his throat and then knocked lightly.

In a matter of moments, the door opened. Irene stood on the other side, her gentle curls falling past her shoulders. Sherlock couldn't help but marvel for a moment at how she hadn't changed in the slightest since the last time he saw her. "I didn't think you'd come." She said, actually sounding surprised.

Sherlock couldn't help but raise a single brow. "The May Fair Hotel?" he asked. "Dangerously close to the word Mayfly, don't you think?"

Irene smirked. "Well you know I did enjoy that case. You shouldn't be surprised that I still read John's blog." She stepped aside and Sherlock stepped in.

"The implications are what I take issue with."

"You mean the implications that I'm going to make you truly live for a day?" Irene teased. She closed the door behind him and her arms came up to his shoulders, running down his arms. "You're not wearing your coat."

"Well I couldn't exactly grab my coat without letting on that I would be sneaking out." He replied, looking over his shoulder at her. Irene walked around to face him. Sherlock felt for a moment as though she were a predator, circling her prey. He could practically feel her gaze on him and wondered what was running through her mind.

"Well the news reporters weren't exaggerating, were they? You really did relapse?"

Sherlock blinked rapidly for a moment. It wasn't what he was expecting. "Well… yes."

"Well then… I know just what to do with you…" She said. She grabbed his hand and led him to her bed. "Sit."

Sherlock did as he was told. He felt his heart lurch into his throat. All of this was very new. Of course he'd imagined situations like this in his Mind Palace with Irene. What would happen if he ever actually did accept her invitation to 'dinner.' But imagining it and actually doing it were two different things. Irene disappeared from the room and Sherlock was left sitting on the bed. He clasped his hands together nervously in front of him and worried at his lip.

When Irene came back in the room minutes later Sherlock started to speak, "Irene, I just want you to know that I've never-"

Irene placed a single finger over Sherlock's lips in order to quiet him. "Shh." She said, before her hand moved to stroke down the side of his face. "Sherlock Holmes, I am going to have you… And I really do mean _have_ … But not tonight."

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion and he went to speak again, but was quieted once more.

"I told you I know just what to do with you. What you need. Are you going to trust me?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Come on, then." She offered him her hand and Sherlock took it. Irene led him from the main room and into the bathroom.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion yet again. "A bath?"

"Have you seen yourself lately, Sherlock?" She gently grabbed his chin and turned it towards the mirror. "You've lost two stone, at least. And your poor eye…" she tutted and turned his chin again so that they were looking directly at each other. "I want you, more than anything, Sherlock. But I want you healthy. I want you at your best. So tonight, you're going to get a bath and a shave and possibly even a hair cut and then… we're simply going to enjoy each other's company… our intellect…" She raised a brow. "Sound fair?"

Sherlock's shoulders released some of their tension and he nodded. Yes. She was right. That was exactly what he needed right now.

"See? I told you I know what people like." She teased. She leaned up to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock's breath hitched slightly as he felt a warmth in his chest that he wasn't sure he'd felt before. But as quickly as her lips pressed against his, they were gone.

Irene's eyes drifted to Sherlock's chest and she began to unbutton his shirt. It wasn't long before Sherlock was completely exposed in front of her. It reminded him of when they first met each other. "Not sure where to look?" Sherlock asked quietly, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Get in that bath before I _make_ you get in the bath." Irene threatened lightly.

Sherlock did as he was told once more. He was too tired to argue and he was sure Irene knew that. Once he was in the bath he let Irene do as she wished. First she took a cloth and carefully made sure his skin was clean of any grime. Then she put lotion on her hands and worked at his shoulders, musing aloud at how tense he was. Sherlock tried to relax, but the more he thought about it the more tense he got. It was frustrating. He wanted to be able to relax… for Irene. He wanted to be able to please her. (He was still working out why that was.)

"Love, listen to me." Irene started, her hands rubbing at his neck now. "I can see you thinking. I want you to stop thinking for a moment. Just focus on my hands, how they move across your skin, how your muscles relax under them."

"But they're not relaxing." Sherlock grumbled.

"But they _will_. I promise." Irene replied quickly. "Just don't think about it."

Sherlock Holmes? Not think about it?

"Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing." Irene instructed further.

Sherlock gave a small nod and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth. After his return from the dead, he'd suffered nightmares from the torture he'd endured during his time away. He'd had to teach himself deep breathing techniques in order to cope. Once he'd started going on cases with John again, the nightmares had become much less frequent. But now that he thought about it, he wondered why Irene didn't say anything about the scars on his back. He was sure she had-

"You're still thinking." Irene said softly.

Right. No thinking. Deep breath in… and out. He felt Irene's hands leave his neck. Soon she was pouring water over his head to soak his curls. Then she began to massage his scalp as she worked shampoo into his hair. A soft sigh escaped Sherlock's lips without him even realizing. Irene smirked to herself.

Everything became warm and fuzzy after that for Sherlock. He didn't realize until Irene spoke next that he was practically dozing off in the tub. "Let's get you out and dry." She said quietly, carding her fingers through Sherlock's hair once more. "Mm." Sherlock merely hummed in response. Once he was dry Irene helped him into a clean set of clothes. "How did you…?" he started to ask.

"You're not the only one that can predict people's behavior." Irene teased. She moved a chair that was in the corner over and put it directly behind him. "Now sit and we'll get rid of that stubble. I prefer you clean shaven. Gives me a better view of those lovely cheekbones."

Sherlock smiled slightly and sat. He subconsciously scratched at his cheeks. He really had let himself go these past weeks… How long had it been since Mary's death? He counted backwards. One month and two weeks? That was if he had today's date correct.

Irene titled Sherlock's head back and after applying shaving cream began to carefully rid his cheeks of the scruffy facial hair he'd managed to grow. Sherlock could see her eyes taking in the bruises on his face. He could see her particularly looking at his eye again. He knew it looked horrible.

"Hyphema." He said quietly.

"What?" Irene asked, her eyes now watching her hands, making sure she didn't slip. But she was a professional. Sherlock could tell this wasn't the first time she'd done this with someone.

"You were looking at my eye. The word for the bleeding in my eye is called hyphema." He explained. "It'll go away eventually, don't worry."

Irene stopped her work for a moment and gently caressed Sherlock's face. Her thumb ran underneath his injured eye. She looked every bit concerned. "Who did this to you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked away. His voice was barely a whisper. "John."

Irene's hand came away quickly and she nearly gasped. "He wouldn't…"

"I…" Sherlock started and then stopped. John had said he hadn't killed Mary, but he still felt responsible. Sherlock felt his eyes begin to burn and so he closed them. "His wife died. She was shot protecting me." He took a deep breath in through his nose, though it held a slight shake.

"Oh, love…" Irene whispered, her fingers running through his hair once more. "Is that what all this drugs thing was about?"

"Sort of." Sherlock answered.

Irene sighed and finished shaving Sherlock's chin. She took a wet cloth and made sure his skin was clean and smooth. "There." She said with a smile. "Much better."

"Now what do we do?" Sherlock asked.

"Like I said, enjoy each other's company." Irene answered. She took Sherlock's hand and led him back out to the bedroom. She went to the bedside table where there was a bottle of wine and two glasses. She filled them both halfway, handing one to Sherlock. She tapped her glass lightly against his. "Happy Birthday, Sherlock." She said with a smile.

Sherlock nodded, lifting his glass slightly in response. "Thank you." He said quietly, taking a small sip of the rich, red wine.

"Can I guess your age?" Irene asked before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock's brow furrowed together. "You mean you don't know?"

Irene smiled and shook her head. "No. I only figured out your actual birth _day_ … not the year specifically."

Sherlock sat on the bed beside her. "Well go on then."

Irene was quiet for a moment, carefully thinking about her answer. "Thirty-two."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm flattered." He kept his gaze on the wall, taking another sip from his glass.

Irene's brow furrowed together. "Thirty-four?"

"Warmer."

Irene's gaze looked Sherlock up and down. She wore a look of surprise. "Sherlock Holmes, you cannot be forty years old."

"Close enough."

"Thirty-nine?"

Sherlock raised his glass to signal she'd finally found the correct answer. He finished his glass with one last swallow, placing the glass back on the table beside the bed. "Promise you won't tell?" he joked lightly.

"Does John know?" Irene asked curiously.

"No… Well he didn't. I… forgot to put my phone on silent today and he heard your text alert."

Irene laughed. "You still have it set to the one I made you? All those years ago?"

Sherlock felt his cheeks grow warm and blamed it on the little wine he'd just had. "I suppose I never got around to changing it."

Irene smiled at him fondly and didn't comment on it further. Moving carefully, so as not to spill the wine in her hand, she moved so that she was leaning back against the pillows at the top of the bed. "Come on," she urged, patting the bed beside her. "Come lie with me."

Sherlock swallowed and his mouth opened and closed. "I-I don't-"

Irene rolled her eyes and reached out to grab his hand. "Come _on_." She pulled him until he was lying down beside her, his head on her shoulder. She held her wine with one hand while the other played with Sherlock's curls. They sat in silence for a moment as Sherlock adjusted to this new position. "You've really never done this before with anyone, have you?" Irene asked quietly.

Sherlock hesitated before carefully wrapping one of his arms across Irene's abdomen, settling into the position more. "Not this way… not really."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, eager to learn more about her favorite Holmes.

Sherlock hesitated yet again. "Back in uni… I would trade sexual favors for drugs. I could read people. Knew what they were looking for. And they paid me well." He cleared his throat. "But that was a long time ago. I was desperate. Didn't know how to cope with my need for a high. I've learned different ways to manage that now."

"But you've never, been in a relationship with someone? Willingly?" She asked.

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "Not outside of case work."

Irene began to expertly massage Sherlock's scalp, like she'd done before in the bath. Sherlock couldn't help but hum in content, allowing his eyes to close. "I should have known you'd be a sucker for a scalp massage." She teased.

"It feels nice." He answered honestly.

Irene smiled to herself and continued to gently run her fingers through Sherlock's hair. Occasionally they moved down to massage his neck and jaw. "So you were close with her? John's wife, Mary?"

"Mmhm." Sherlock answered in a low voice. "She was my friend. She liked me."

"But not how you like me?"

Sherlock snorted. "No, not that way."

"So you do like me? In a different sort of way?" Sherlock could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"Yes of course I do." Sherlock could feel himself relaxing more and more into Irene's side. He was glad he had already closed his eyes because they felt impossible to open at the moment. His environment was becoming warm and fuzzy again, just like it had in the bath…

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Does John know you're here?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed slightly. "Well of course not, I snuck out."

"Right."

Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose and then sighed. "Speaking of, I should probably go."

"But you're not going to."

"But 'm not going to."

The room was quiet as they simply enjoyed each other's presence. Irene, lost in her thoughts for a moment, turned her head down slightly to try and get a glimpse of Sherlock's face. She could feel his body relaxing, his breaths getting longer and deeper. "Sherlock? You still with me?"

"Mm?" he hummed.

"I have to ask…about the scars…" She put down her now empty glass of wine and tilted Sherlock's chin up so that she could look in his eyes. Sherlock opened his eyes, but Irene could easily see just how exhausted he was. His good eye was glassy, his bad one practically tearing up. The underneath of his bad eye was bruised, but she could see the dark imprint a lack of sleep had left under his good one. "They're deep…thick…"

"I got them during my time away." Sherlock whispered, blinking heavily. "I had to go deep cover…and it ended rather badly."

"You know for a while I thought you were dead… Actually dead." Irene said. Sherlock yawned widely while Irene spoke, his eyes forcing themselves shut as he nestled back in against Irene's shoulder. "But one day, I heard about a man in France being found dead. Someone I knew that was connected to Jim Moriarty. And I just knew you were alive. Then of course, when you came back to London and the media found out, there was no denying it then. You were all over the news… Sherlock?"

Sherlock made no reply. His lips were parted slightly as he was lost to the world, deep in sleep already. Irene couldn't help but chuckle under her breath. God knew he needed it, but never would Irene have imagined this was how her night was going to go. She waited a moment more and then slipped her hand into Sherlock's trouser pocket, finding his mobile. The man didn't move a muscle, complete dead weight against her side.

She frowned as she realized his phone was password protected. Of course it would be. She mulled over it for a moment and put in the first thing that came to mind. She tried not to laugh when it was correct. '221B.' And Sherlock had said _her_ password was predictable.

She found the number for Dr. John H. Watson. She typed a message, sent it, and then deleted it. After a moment's thought, she pulled up Sherlock's camera and snapped a quick photo. She put the phone back in Sherlock's pocket, knowing he'd be none the wiser. Not until much later when he discovered the photo. She pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. "Goodnight, Mr. Holmes." She whispered.

* * *

The next day John arrived at Baker Street at 6PM, just like he'd said he would.

Sherlock was sitting cross legged in his chair when John arrived, fingers pressed together under his chin. His eyes were closed. He looked as though he'd been in deep thought for a while.

"You look better." John commented, trying not to smirk.

Sherlock's eyes opened, taking in John's presence in the flat. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." John answered. He bit down on his lower lip, seriously trying to repress a smile.

Sherlock's brow furrowed together as he took in John's expression. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing, nothing it's uh just… you shaved."

Sherlock blinked a few times. "Definitely, yes. I did in fact shave..." he stumbled. "I've never been one for facial hair, you know that, John."

John cleared his throat as he entered the kitchen. He put the kettle on, preparing to make them both some tea before he made Sherlock something to eat as well. "So, um, what time did you get back? After your little night out?"

Sherlock's face paled and John let out the laugh that he'd been holding in. Sherlock's hands then went to cover his face. "She didn't."

"Oh, she did." _._


End file.
